“I wouldn’t for worlds!  I never was so much amused in my life.  Look at those girls—­those sisters—­in the huge velvet sleeves, like coloured balloons!—­and that old lady in the pink tulle and diamonds.—­I do so want to get her her cloak! And those Lancers!—­I never could have imagined people danced like that.  They didn’t dance them—­they romped them!  It wasn’t beautiful—­was it?”

“Why do you expect an English crowd to do anything beautiful?  If we could do it, we should be too ashamed.”

“But it is beautiful, all the same, you scornful person!” cried Mary, dragging her friend down beside her.  “How pretty the girls are!  And as for the diamonds, I never saw anything so wonderful.  I wish I could have made Charles come!”

“Wouldn’t he?”

“No”—­she looked a little troubled—­“he couldn’t think it would be quite right.  But I don’t know—­a sight like this takes me off my feet, shakes me up, and does me a world of good!”

“You dear, simple thing!” said Marcella, slipping her hand into Mary’s as it lay on the bench.

“Oh, you needn’t be so superior!” cried Mary,—­“not for another year at least.  I don’t believe you are much more used to it than I am!”

“If you mean,” said Marcella, “that I was never at anything so big and splendid as this before, you are quite right.”

And she looked round the room with that curious, cold air of personal detachment from all she saw, which had often struck Mary, and to-night made her indignant.

“Then enjoy it!” she said, laughing and frowning at the same time.  “That’s a much more plain duty for you than it was for Charles to stay at home—­there!  Haven’t you been dancing?”

“No, Mr. Raeburn doesn’t dance.  But he thinks he can get through the next Lancers if I will steer him.”

“Then I shall find a seat where I can look at you,” said Mary, decidedly.  “Ah, there is Mr. Raeburn coming to introduce somebody to you.  I knew they wouldn’t let you sit here long.”

Aldous brought up a young Guardsman, who boldly asked Miss Boyce for the pleasure of a dance.  Marcella consented; and off they swept into a room which was only just beginning to fill for the new dance, and where, therefore, for the moment the young grace of both had free play.  Marcella had been an indefatigable dancer in the old London days at those students’ parties, with their dyed gloves and lemonade suppers, which were running in her head now, as she swayed to the rhythm of this perfect band.  The mere delight in movement came back to her; and while they danced, she danced with all her heart.  Then in the pauses she would lean against the wall beside her partner, and rack her brain to find a word to say to him.  As for anything that he said, every word—­whether of Ascot, or the last Academy, or the new plays, or the hunting and the elections—­sounded to her more vapid than the last.